


Secret Society

by cruisedirector



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Career Change, Communication Failure, Developing Relationship, Disguise, Dom/sub Undertones, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff and Crack, Love Changes Everything, Lube, M/M, Making Love, Middle Aged Virgins, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pseudonyms, Reunions, Secret Identity, Sex Club, Strength Kink, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert visits a hidden gathering place for men and takes a vow of secrecy. Guess who then walks in the door?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Secret Society 秘密结社](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456231) by [alucard1771](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alucard1771/pseuds/alucard1771)



> Many thanks to dementordelta for encouragement and to esteven for beta-on-demand.

La Flaque had few rules -- indeed, that was its purpose -- but the ones it did have were phrased as sacred promises, and every man was required to sign his agreement to them when he entered for the first time. Apart from secrecy, the principal restrictions were that no member was to inquire about any other's true name, profession, social position, or place of residence, and if anyone recognized anyone else from the outside world, that information was to be kept strictly confidential both within and without the club, whether the person was a long-lost relative or a suspected traitor. The only exception to this rule could be invoked for men who might be an immediate threat to La Flaque or its members, and then the topic had to be taken up with the _parrain_ in the utmost secrecy, with the consequence of immediate dismissal if an accusation was found to be baseless.

The presence of an ex-convict at La Flaque hardly constituted an immediate threat, particularly since the prisoner's crime had not involved bodily harm to another nor wanton destruction of property. So when Jean Valjean walked into the club, dressed in the sort of fine coat that Monsieur Madeleine would have worn and smiling as he removed his hat, Javert could do nothing but sit and seethe.

It had taken him months to bring himself to La Flaque since learning of the club's existence from a pathetic man at the station house. Because it was irrelevant to the charges -- the drunken man had confessed to many lewd acts irrelevant to the indecent exposure for which he had been arrested -- Javert had not bothered to record the existence of the secret club, nor the password that would gain a first-time visitor access to the _parrain_. For weeks he had told himself that, if he went, it would be in his capacity as a police officer, to be certain that no laws were being violated. When he finally found the courage to visit and was shown the rules, he knew that he could not investigate the club without breaking the oath to which he had signed his name.

At least, that was what he had told himself when he returned, out of uniform, for his first night as an official member.

Yet there he was, an older novice largely ignored by the young men greeting one another in the outer room, when he came face to face with the one man in all the world whom he had wished to find in Paris -- to find, and to arrest. Jean Valjean strode in as if he was quite familiar with the place, smiling and shaking hands with boys young enough to be sons and grandsons. It was certainly not _his_ first time there. When his eyes fell upon Javert, his smile faltered for only a moment before he strode over, hand outstretched in greeting.

"I am Monsieur Leblanc," Valjean said.

"I am Monsieur Lenoir," snapped Javert.

This only made Valjean smile more. "We are the eldest men in this room by far." Javert scowled at him. "I found this place because of a young man. I had believed him to be the same young man who follows my daughter in the park, and was disturbed. But once I became a member, I realized that I had been mistaken, and it was a different young man entirely who came here -- a friend of my daughter's would-be suitor."

Surely this was more information than Valjean should have been allowed to share under the rules. "How pleased you must have been to learn that you could have that young man entirely to yourself," Javert growled. He noticed that Valjean's cheeks grew flushed at his growl and wondered at it.

"No, you mistake my meaning. I have no interest in young men. I only wished to be certain that my daughter was not being pursued by a man who wished to use her to disguise his true inclinations. But once I had become a member, I found that I enjoyed coming here. It is difficult for me to enjoy the company of friends at home, while here there is great freedom to converse."

"Do you expect me to believe that you come here to converse?" Javert spat the words. It should not have surprised him to learn that in addition to being a thief and a liar, Valjean was a sodomite. What surprised him was that, although the gathering of men had proved disappointing to him -- even if Javert supposed that several would be considered attractive to someone who liked pretty youths -- his cock grew stiff at the thought of Valjean being buggered.

Valjean was studying him. "I enjoy the camaraderie here. The men who become members know better than to judge any other man here." Realizing that his scowl might be perceived as judgment, Javert tried to make his expression more welcoming, though he remained inexplicably angry at the thought that while he had been working alone to protect society, Valjean had been at the club making friends and having his cock sucked by other men. Valjean must have sensed the anger, for he sighed, "I have no reason to mislead you. I have never once visited the back rooms. What about you? I have never noticed you here before."

Javert wanted to retort that he was there on police business, but the words would earn him immediate dismissal and he would likely never see Valjean again. What did it matter if a thief thought he was queer? That was, after all, the point of the club. "I have never been here before," he said shortly.

"Then I imagine that you want me to leave you alone, so that you have an opportunity to meet those younger and handsomer than myself." Once more Valjean smiled, and Javert could not deny that his cock responded. "Perhaps you would like a glass of wine. I'm told that men are often nervous when they first arrive. Those boys believe me to be an old _tapette_ who can no longer enjoy the act but still likes to gossip with virile men."

"Ah. That is why you prefer to converse, if you can no longer get it up." Javert could not have said whether he was more relieved that Valjean hadn't gone to bed with every man in the room or more disappointed that he himself would never see Valjean's well-muscled body with a hard cock.

His voice must have given something away, for the look Valjean gave him was frankly appraising, tinged with amusement. "I can still get it up," Valjean said in a low voice. "Though I have never allowed myself the indulgence with another."

Javert's breath caught in his throat. He did not have to behave like a policeman here. Indeed, he was required by the rules of the club to treat Valjean as an equal. Moreover, he was tired of pretending that what he wanted, and what he had wanted for many years before, wasn't standing within arm's reach. "Perhaps you would allow me to indulge you," he uttered in a low voice, being certain to growl again.

He half-expected Valjean to laugh at him and stride away toward the crowd of more attractive partners beginning to pair off -- or in one case form a trio -- in the room beyond, but Valjean blushed again. "Are you toying with me?" he asked, and, when Javert shook his head, reached out a hand to help him stand. "Then yes," Valjean nodded, his own voice rough. "I would like to share that indulgence."

It was complete madness. Javert felt as if his cock and not his wits had just made a major decision. He followed Valjean toward whatever lay beyond the parlor with the same sense of losing his mind that he might have felt if he had stepped off a bridge to fall into the Seine.

Whether or not Valjean had spoken truly about his lack of experience in the club's private chambers, he was evidently familiar with its customs in a way that Javert was not, despite having made an attempt to familiarize himself with the procedures. By the time Valjean had lit the candles and bolted the door of a small back room with a large bed, he had acquired a bedsheet and a small bottle whose contents Javert could guess. "Did the patron explain the housekeeping fee?" Valjean asked him. "I'm told that it is higher for certain -- unusual -- activities, but since I am new to this, and since this is your first time here..."

"Wait," Javert interrupted. "You mean that you have _never_ allowed yourself the indulgence? Not even --" He stopped himself. It was not permitted to ask questions connected to a man's identity outside the club.

Valjean shrugged. "I've told you, there are few who have ever known me well, and I was not interested in an anonymous encounter." At this, Javert sputtered a bit, for he was aware of at least two false names that Valjean had used. "What about you? Have you been in places like this one before?"

While he spoke, Valjean spread the sheet over the bed, and Javert found himself transfixed by the large hands and rippling muscles beneath the man's clothing. This was ridiculous. A single moment of arousal -- very well, not the first moment of arousal from this man, but the first in his presence for many years -- was no reason to betray a life of chastity and blemishless behavior. Summoning as much dignity as he could muster, Javert proclaimed, "I have not. This is a mistake. There are many younger, more experienced men out there who could satisfy you far better than I could."

Straightening, Valjean turned to look at him, letting the corner of the sheet fall unevenly across the bed. The ripples of fabric struck Javert as suggestive, even obscene. "You're wrong," protested Valjean in a low voice. "I have spoken to all the men out there. I consider some of them my friends, even if none of us has been introduced properly. I know the purpose of this place is to remain unknown, yet you know me and I know you, even if you have never been able to see me for anything besides what I once was. If we can bear the weight of those secrets together, then I would like to share this bed with you."

Having assumed that Valjean wanted him in spite of who he was, Javert did not know what to make of this confession that Valjean wanted him precisely because of who he was. A small moan forced itself past his lips. Though they were forbidden to acknowledge the times and places, they had known one another for many years; each could picture the other as a younger man, each knew the interests and habits of the other from Montreuil, and perhaps, as Javert had long dreamed, Valjean even had noticed him in Toulon just as he had noticed Valjean. He wanted to see this man undressed, he wanted to feel those long-imagined muscles under his own hands. "Why would you trust me?" he demanded.

Smiling again, Valjean offered a hand. "When you came to this place, you must have agreed to its rules. If you are a man of honor, I have no cause for fear."

Javert's thoughts were a maelstrom. One, however, dominated the rest. He gave Valjean his hand and said, "I have imagined better uses for your mouth than talking."

For an instant Valjean's eyes went round with shock, then a gluttonous smile crossed his face. "And I have imagined better uses for your cock than straining your trousers." With a single tug that nearly made Javert fall over, Valjean pulled him close, whispering, "May I?" His other hand reached to unfasten Javert's clothing.

Javert could not speak. Instead he watched in fascination as Valjean let the trousers fall and slid a hand around Javert's back, not quite touching the curve of a buttock, sitting on the bed and drawing Javert forward. The sight of his own cock sticking out dark and rigid from beneath his shirt made Javert moan again. His chest tightened, though that was nothing compared to his mortification at the sound that tore itself from his throat when Valjean lowered his head and sucked at the tip.

It was almost too good; for a moment Javert thought that his control would shatter. His fingers clutched at Valjean's hair, pulling harder than he intended, and the suction disappeared. "Don't you like that?" asked Valjean, his face flushed.

"I like it too much." Javert could not keep his voice from shaking. "I don't want to finish so quickly."

Grinning, Valjean nodded, reaching with one hand to unfasten his own trousers. "At my age, once I'm finished, I am done for the night. But you're younger than I am."

"Not so much younger." Javert suspected that recovering would not be a problem this particular night, but he did not want to waste any opportunities. "You brought that --" He gestured toward the oil, then groaned as Valjean's lips once more pressed the head of his prick in a swift kiss.

"This is a very fine cock. If you are willing, I would like to feel it inside me."

The cock in question throbbed as if it had understood the words. Again Javert had to struggle to regain his control. "I will never last long enough to put it inside you," he muttered.

Rather than frowning in disappointment, Valjean gave him a naughty smile. "Next time, then." The fingers pressed to Javert's back slid downward, cupping and squeezing his ass, and Valjean's face rubbed against his cock, which left a streak of wetness over one cheekbone. Javert wondered what Valjean would do if he kissed it, or licked away the stain -- oh -- Valjean was kissing his cock again, sliding his mouth down further than he had before, bobbing his head so that Javert could see the shaft moving in and out between the lips, which embraced his cock in thick soft heat --

An inhuman noise tore itself from Javert's throat as his hips bucked, pushing him deeper into Valjean's mouth. He thought he heard Valjean grunt softly in surprise, but he could no more stop himself than he could stop the explosion that began deep in his loins and burst like a dam breaking, making him flood Valjean's throat.

For what seemed like a very long time, Javert could not speak, could not breathe, could not do anything besides clutch at whatever was holding him upright while the pleasure from his cock tore through him, shattering and reforming all it encountered. Though his vision would not clear, eventually it came to him that the solidity at which he fingers grasped must be Valjean's neck and that he was probably causing him pain. He tried to loosen his grip, to move his hand to Valjean's shoulder, and heard a chuckle.

Valjean looked as if a storm had just blown through the room. His hair stood up wildly where Javert's fingers had seized it; half the side of his face was wet, spilling from the side of his mouth down his chin, dripping onto his clothes; his cheeks were scarlet and his eyes were watering. Yet he was grinning, his lips still surrounding Javert's cock, which he licked once more while his eyes held Javert's. It was obscene and glorious.

"God," whispered Javert, unable to think beyond that single syllable.

Slowly Valjean withdrew his mouth, still looking predatory and irresistible. "I was not entirely incompetent, then?"

Javert could not bear to speak, and could think of only one way to be certain of shutting Valjean up. Bending, he tried to kiss him, though he was still unsteady from his climax and practically fell on top of Valjean, catching himself with the hand that still grasped Valjean's shoulder. Though he was certain that Valjean could bear his weight, Valjean allowed himself to be tipped back on the bed, tilting his head to capture Javert's lips. Kissing had always looked messy to Javert and this should have been repulsive, with his seed smearing across both their faces along with their spittle, yet it was intoxicating instead, for somehow Valjean captured and sucked on his tongue, stroking it with his own. It made Javert shudder, groaning into his mouth.

He felt a tug around his neck and lifted his head, only to find that Valjean was in the process of removing his cravat. His trousers had fallen to the floor, while Valjean's, though hanging open, remained around his hips. When he reached to unbutton Valjean's waistcoat, Valjean shook his head. "Let me blow out the candles."

"No. You have seen me, now I want to see you."

Valjean lowered his eyes. "My scars have not faded with age."

"Nor have mine." Javert had never told Valjean the details of his childhood, not even when he had admitted to the onetime mayor that he had been born inside a jail, but he knew that Valjean could no more ask questions than Javert could acknowledge the signs that the man had been a convict. After a moment Valjean nodded and they continued to undress each other, exchanging curious kisses, though Valjean was braver and kissed in more places, tasting the skin of Javert's throat and then his chest when it was exposed to his gaze. "Now let me," said Javert almost crossly, turning Valjean so that he lay back fully on the bed. It did not seem fair that Valjean had had Javert's cock in his mouth when Javert had not yet had a good look at Valjean's.

Even only half erect, it did not disappoint. Valjean's arms and thighs were impressively thick and his cock was as well, swelling from a dark thatch with less silver than the hair on Valjean's head. The smell was strange and familiar all at once. The taste was mostly strange, strong and bitter even after the taste of his own seed on Valjean's lips, yet Javert liked the feel of the flesh in his mouth, soft skin over hardening muscle that twitched and throbbed when he moved his tongue on it. He liked even more the sounds Valjean made, and the fingers, surprisingly gentle, that stroked through his hair and over his cheek.

"No more, I beg you," Valjean groaned after a few minutes. "Or I will not be able to stop myself, and I have no wish to end so soon."

With some reluctance, Javert pulled his mouth off Valjean's cock, which made a wet popping sound as it slid from between his lips. He wanted what Valjean had said earlier that he would allow -- he wanted to bugger Valjean, to spill his seed inside him and thus in some manner to mark Valjean as his, even if it meant nothing more than shared pleasure to Valjean -- and he knew that he would not be recovered sufficiently to begin so soon. A hand cupped his chin, making him look up to find Valjean studying him.

"I would have thought you might find me disgusting, since..." Wordlessly Valjean gestured to the scars on his arms and around his neck, scars whose origins could not be mistaken by one who had seen the shackles and manacles. Javert felt his face grow warm. He kissed the uneven skin of Valjean's wrist, then he slid up to kiss the garish mark on the side of his throat.

The pulse beat quickly against Javert's lips and he felt the rapid rise and fall of Valjean's chest. A twinge passed through his still-soft prick. "I would have thought you might find me disgusting, since you hold me responsible," he replied.

"You were only doing your duty." A small shudder made Valjean quiver beneath him. "I suppose you would do it again, if we met anywhere but here."

"That is not a subject we are permitted to discuss." Valjean's nipple stiffened enticingly beneath Javert's tongue. "I am forbidden to attempt to follow you or learn where you live." Valjean moved his leg, making sparse wiry hairs brush against Javert's cock which had settled over Valjean's thigh, and Javert moaned, his breath making the nipple tighten more. Shifting, he licked the other one, feeling Valjean rub him deliberately with the thigh. "I suppose that, if I saw you anywhere in the vicinity of this place, I would be expected to ignore your presence."

Valjean's breathing stuttered and his fingers dug into Javert's arm. "Surely you have taken oaths that supersede the vow you made when you joined La Flaque."

"I am obliged to uphold all my oaths, lest my integrity should become suspect." It felt better than Javert had ever imagined to be lying over another man -- over Valjean -- like this, rubbing one another's cocks with their thighs, moving their hands over one another's bodies. A thought popped into his mind. "I could not risk having you threaten to tell anyone of this."

"You don't believe that I would threaten you? That would violate my own oath."

"I could not risk it," said Javert again. He felt lightheaded, as though a weight he had carried for many years had suddenly been lifted from him. He could not risk arresting Valjean and violating his own oath of secrecy to the club. He had fallen, and he would have to live with the consequences forever. His cock was growing hard again, thrusting against Valjean's thigh as Javert's knee urged Valjean's legs apart.

Powerful hands pushed on Javert's shoulders, forcing him to raise himself up. He had forgotten for an instant how very strong Valjean was. The older man's expression was serious but there was a strange light in his eyes that did not come from the dim candles. "I would be very grateful to be ignored," he murmured. "I would show you my gratitude in any way you wished, as often as you could visit the club."

It sounded very like a bribe, but Javert was in no position to remind Valjean that he was a criminal and Javert was far too honorable a man to consider a bribe, since he could not mention their pasts. "In any way I wished?" he inquired, hearing the tremor in his own voice. "You've already offered to let me bugger you."

"Perhaps that isn't the only thing you would like to do." A slow smile pushed up the corners of Valjean's mouth. "You agreed very quickly to come to this room with me. Perhaps you had plans for me that could not be fulfilled in a single night."

Finally, he could have Valjean...he could have Valjean for as long as he wanted. Javert did not think he turned his face away quickly enough to prevent Valjean from seeing the surge of longing that made him bite his lip. "You sound as though you might have plans for me," he muttered.

Abruptly he found himself being flipped onto his back, held down by the force of Valjean's arms. "I have had plans for you since...well, I cannot say. I am forbidden by oath to do so." The conspiratorial grin sent heat flooding into Javert's prick, which felt quite recovered from its previous exertions. "Only if you wish, of course. But I thought that you might enjoy surrendering to your desires."

The way Valjean said _surrender_ made Javert tremble all over, something he was sure Valjean noticed at once. He could not tell Valjean how he had watched him in Toulon and polluted himself afterward, dreaming of that powerful body dominating his own, he could not tell Valjean how he had longed to follow the mayor home in Montreuil and offer to serve him in any way the mayor wished...he could not say these things, though it seemed Valjean suspected anyway. Yet Javert could have them now simply by asking.

"Anything you want," Valjean was whispering, releasing one of his hands only to reach up and take the oil from the table by the bed. "I know little of lovemaking, but much of the hungers of the body. I want to share love instead of fear. I want to satisfy you when you look at me like a wolf with its prey." The oil spilled out over Valjean's fingers, though Javert was too transfixed by his words and his large hands to realize what Valjean must intend until the slippery hand reached down to stroke Javert's hard cock. "I want to take care of this --"

His hips jerked up off the bed and he groaned, pushing into Valjean's fingers, embarrassed by how little he could control his body's responses to Valjean yet not ashamed enough to try to make it stop. Though Valjean evidently intended to let Javert fuck him, oiling Javert's prick to ease the way, Javert could not help but feel that Valjean had steered this encounter from the start and that he would be utterly within Valjean's possession even as he took him.

That thought did not repel him, but aroused him further. Valjean moved his hand, and though Javert couldn't see precisely what it was doing, he could tell from the soft squelching noise and the way Valjean's eyes widened where he must have put his fingers. He groaned again, sliding his fingertips up Valjean's chest, wondering how Valjean could still have such fine form at his age, with years of hard labor far behind him. Again he made the nipples stiffen and Valjean made a soft hissing noise. Javert's own hips were rocking, an instinctive movement of which he was unaware until Valjean's thighs clamped around them. That magnificent body had lost none of its power.

"Not too fast," warned Valjean with a crooked smile as he settled over Javert, lowering himself until Javert could feel the hidden entrance pressing over the head of his cock. He bucked up too violently, missing the spot and making Valjean choke on a laugh. "You must let me do this. Hold still," Valjean ordered him, and the command in the tone, even more than the warm skin against him, made Javert clutch at Valjean's hips.

"Please..."

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the opening gave way around his cock. For a moment Valjean's face contorted, then he shifted slightly and the resisting muscles seemed to relax. "That's better," Valjean breathed, lowering his weight, engulfing Javert's prick in tight heat that felt better than anything he could have imagined. He had never dreamed of the lips of whores or the hidden passages between women's legs, but this forbidden dirty place held all the pleasures of the flesh for him. "Now you can move." The strange light had returned to Valjean's eyes, and he was smiling.

Afraid of falling from this heaven, Javert scarcely let his hips roll, tightening his buttocks to lift him upward toward Valjean. Incredibly, that felt even better, and Valjean groaned as if something unexpectedly delightful had occurred. Again and again Javert pushed upward, becoming more confident with each thrust that he would not slip out and that, far from being in pain, Valjean was enthusiastically participating in his own debauchery, moving up and down on Javert's cock, finding angles that pleased him. Fully erect, Valjean was a wonder to behold, and Javert fumbled to wrap his hand around the thick rod.

"Oh yes, like that." Valjean's voice was gratifyingly breathless. His fingers briefly covered Javert's, moving Javert's hand more aggressively over Valjean's cock, and it took all of Javert's will not to surge inside and climax at the sight of Valjean pleasuring himself in such a manner. "Do you like this?" Valjean asked him, the curve of his mouth telling Javert that he already knew the answer. His eyes narrowed, concentrating, and Javert felt potent inner muscles grip around his cock. "Do you like fucking me? I think you do."

Even if Valjean had been a stranger, Javert doubted he could have mastered himself after such a statement, and this was a man he had pursued for years, had despaired of ever finding, who now held him in the most intimate of embraces. He opened his mouth to answer, but could only cry out, his hips jerking off the bed, thrusting him in deep as his cock overflowed into Valjean.

"Oh yes, that's..." Valjean never finished the sentence. He let his head fall back, exposing his throat, and as Javert caught his breath, moving his hand with greater confidence over Valjean's throbbing cock, he felt a hard pulse beneath his fingers and looked down to see Valjean's seed erupt over them.

"This is a revelation," panted Valjean. Javert could only nod; he did not yet his voice. Nor did he trust the impulse that made him long to raise his fingers to his face, to smell and taste the seed coating them. Then there was no need to speak, for Valjean had lowered his mouth and was kissing Javert thoroughly, squeezing around his softening cock.

A rhythmic thumping noise distracted them, making Javert glance around. A wide grin spread across Valjean's face. "Someone in a room nearby is enjoying someone else quite vigorously." Blushing, Javert hoped that they had not made so much noise, yet Valjean's smile was warm. "I would like to be fucked by you like that."

With a groan, Javert let his fingers slide from Valjean's skin. "I didn't cause you pain?"

"A bit, at first, but it didn't last." As if to prove the point, Valjean gripped Javert firmly again with his inner muscles. "Though if you have grown tired of bearing my weight..."

"I haven't," Javert protested, but Valjean was already sliding off him, shifting to stretch out at his side. With his clean hand, Javert traced the line of a scar, wiping the other hand with some reluctance on the sheet. "You have borne worse."

There was a crash, then a muffled cry. "Do you suppose they have knocked one another out of bed?" asked Valjean with a rueful smile. "I suppose I am too old to begin such strenuous lovemaking."

"You aren't much older than I am." Javert could not summon the proper indignation with such pleasant lassitude creeping over his muscles. He wondered whether he should protest when Valjean stroked his hair, urging Javert over onto his side. Since the bed was not quite large enough for two men to lie side by side, Valjean was obliged to mold his body to Javert's, curling his legs against Javert's. "We should..."

"Shhhh." The noises from the next room had ceased, and Valjean's fingers continued to stroke through Javert's hair. No one had done that since he had been a child -- a very young child. Once he had understood that his mother was a lawbreaker, he had avoided allowing her to touch him. Of course Valjean was a lawbreaker as well, but Javert was obliged not to dwell on that in this place, where every man was expected to leave his past and much of his present outside the door. Here he was required to pretend that Valjean was indeed as pure as the name Leblanc signified. He wondered whether Valjean used a different given name, and what it might be...

When Javert woke, surrounded by warmth that contrasted greatly with the chill of his own small chamber, the room was nearly dark. Two of the candles had burned out. He gave a small start. He had been an idiot -- he had fallen asleep in the arms of a thief, a criminal, a man who might have strangled him and stolen all his belongings. Perhaps he was alive only because he had nothing that Valjean wanted.

A kiss to the back of his neck made Javert turn his head. He felt his face warm. It was not true that he had nothing that Valjean wanted; Valjean had made that clear enough a short time ago. He wondered whether, having tried it once, Valjean would prefer it now with someone younger and more flexible in every sense.

"You're awake?" Valjean whispered in a voice so low that Javert could have believed he had dreamed it were it not for the warm breath beside his ear. "The bells chimed midnight not long ago. I'm afraid I must leave before anyone wonders whether something has happened to me."

Javert wondered what had become of the girl Valjean had set out to rescue and whether he had acquired other friends or relations over the years. He wished that he could ask. He would not have used the knowledge to cause trouble for them. "I should go as well," he muttered. It was likely that no one had come looking for him, but in an emergency the police could be roused at all hours, and he had not told anyone that he would be working covertly this evening. He hesitated, not wanting to leave the warm bed. Because he was still sleepy and his thoughts were not fully focused, he blurted out, "I would like to see you again."

"I would like that as well. Perhaps even tomorrow, if there is nowhere else you need to be."

Javert feared that if anyone had tried to summon him, if he was found to be missing for two nights in a row, there would be questions. "I will have work, tomorrow. The following day," he grunted.

"I will be here at La Flaque, then." Again he felt a kiss to the back of his neck and turned to meet Valjean's mouth. It was a gentler kiss than any they had shared previously, but it lasted for a long time and meandered quite a bit, until Javert thought that his aging cock might stir once more. It made him feel odd to realize that he liked kissing Valjean as much as he liked fucking Valjean.

They dressed in silence, untangling their clothes from the pile in which they had carelessly tossed them. It embarrassed Javert to think that he who so carefully removed and folded his garments had flung them off with such abandon, yet he could summon no regret that he had done so. With Jean Valjean. He remembered a previous question. "Leblanc. Is that what you wish to be called?"

A smile broke across Valjean's face. "I would like to be called Charles-François-Bienvenu, but it is not a name that I have earned. I suppose Matthieu will do. What are you called by your friends, Monsieur Lenoir?"

Though tempted to retort that he did not have friends, Javert needed to think quickly. He had not invented a common name for himself. "I am called..." What sounded like Javert? "...Pierre," he finished, feeling slightly ridiculous until Valjean's arm caught him around the waist.

"I hope that only your cock and not your heart is ever hard as stone," Valjean whispered.

They found their way together to the outer room, which was nearly deserted. One younger man sat sipping a glass of wine, looking as though it was not his first -- nor his second or third -- while a slightly older man with wild hair flipped through a book with a perfectly featureless cover, the sort that often hid salacious material inside. "Leblanc," the second man greeted Valjean. "I have never known you to visit the back rooms here."

"I have never been sufficiently tempted before." Valjean's smile warmed Javert just as his arms had done, though Javert avoided the eyes of the other men.

"You must prefer them older." The man returned to his book. Chuckling, Valjean nodded.

"I must prefer just this one." For Javert alone, he added, "I will see you very soon."

As Javert walked in the direction of the station house and his home beyond, he pondered his obligation to duty. He did not dare allow himself to be discovered coming and going from the club. That would violate the oath of concealment he had taken. He would need to construct a plausible explanation for where he went when he disappeared for several hours at a time, perhaps even overnight.

Nor could he attempt to follow Valjean, to track the criminal's whereabouts. His only ethical course of action would be to continue to pretend that he did not know the man's past. But, having found him, there was no reason not to continue to see him at La Flaque. It would, after all, allow Javert to rest comfortably in the knowledge that he had found the man he sought.


	2. Chapter 2

Javert had walked the entire way home, undressed, washed, eaten a bit of stale bread, and fallen into bed with a smile on his face before he realized what a fool he had been.

In the name of his honor, he had allowed himself to be used by a convict who had broken his parole. Of course Valjean had encouraged Javert to believe that he did not dare violate La Flaque's rules only to apprehend a dangerous convict. Even now Valjean was undoubtedly at home, gloating, plotting to disappear back into his dark corner of Paris, which Javert had never been able to penetrate...oh, Javert did not want to think about penetration now! He had let down his guard and been beguiled by Valjean, whom he would certainly never see again in any place where Javert might expect to find him.

Because he had dozed at the club, he slept terribly, and went to work the next day burning with fury. Several gamins had cause to regret Javert's diligence that day.

Evening found him retracing his steps to La Flaque. He had told Valjean that he could not visit the club that evening, so it stood to reason that if Valjean intended to return to say farewell to his friends or indulge in one final bout of cock-sucking, Valjean would do it when he believed himself to be safe from Javert. But Valjean did not appear, and Javert returned to his home as irritated as he had left it, with nothing to do to distract himself but to darn his socks.

The next evening, he decided it would cost him nothing to visit La Flaque again. If Valjean did not appear, perhaps Javert could learn what the others there knew about Leblanc -- the man whom Valjean had been pretending to be -- and if Valjean did appear, then Javert would arrest him on the spot, oath or no oath.

When night fell, he crept to the club, taking care not to be seen going in. The outer room was bustling, the men not yet having paired off to disappear into the back. A few of them greeted him, though he had not thought he had made an impression upon any of them.

There at the rear of the room, smiling as he sipped wine and chatted with several young men, sat Valjean. Javert felt his chest, and his groin, tighten. He did not dare try to arrest Valjean while surrounded by so many younger men who might throw Javert bodily out of the club, or, worse, report to the Prefecture on Javert's behavior during his previous visit. He settled for scowling.

"Monsieur Lenoir! Please come join us. I have already paid for the wine."

A glass was pressed into Javert's hand. "I'm not thirsty," he growled.

The young men near Valjean began to elbow each other and hoot at Javert's tone, while Valjean flushed, smiling at Javert. "Put that man to bed," someone called out.

Javert did not want to shout at Valjean in front of so many observers. "Come with me, Leblanc," he ordered. At his tone, the young men began to hoot again, helping Valjean from his chair with laughter and jokes about someone being very impatient to get his clothes off.

In a state of extreme agitation, Javert followed Valjean to one of the small bedrooms, paying more attention this time to details such as where Valjean left coins for the oil and sheets. Once the candles were lit and the door was shut, Javert snapped, "I didn't think you would come back."

"I told you I would come." Valjean looked surprised. "I wanted to see you. I wanted..."

He never finished the sentence, for Javert, having spent two days trying not to remember anything about being here with Valjean, could no longer restrain himself: he launched himself toward Valjean and kissed him quite ungracefully. Fortunately, Valjean was apparently quite eager to kiss him as well, and Javert soon found himself wrapped in Valjean's powerful arms. He had not forgotten how good this felt, nor how quickly his body responded to being touched in such a manner.

"How could you doubt that I would come back for more of this?" murmured Valjean, turning Javert toward the bed. "I ached for you last night. I told myself it was ridiculous that at my age, after a lifetime of chastity, I should be so changed by a single night of love, but I'm afraid that it is so."

Javert knew he should insist that it was lust, not love, but he didn't trust his voice to keep from shaking the way his hands did. He settled for kissing Valjean to silence. Their hands were already loosening one another's clothes, first bunching in the fabric, then tugging deliberately to unfasten and untuck.

"What would you like?" asked Valjean, his voice full of offers and promises.

Javert wanted many things, more than he could possibly hope to experience in a single night. He revised his plan to arrest Valjean. He had already decided that that would violate his oath to La Flaque and so be dishonorable. "Your mouth," he began between kisses, intending a vague compliment.

Against his own, Valjean's lips curved into a smile. "All over you, or on your cock?" Javert's groan had much of a shudder in it. "Perhaps I shall start here..."

Warm hands pushed his shirt up, then a warmer tongue stroked over a nipple. "Yes," hissed Javert, his fingers clutching at Valjean's shoulder. Material met his fingers, so he pulled off first the open waistcoat, then the shirt beneath. "Now let me."

He knew that his mouth was clumsy, less gentle and coaxing than Valjean's, and he tried to compensate by swallowing most of Valjean's big prick all at once, nearly choking himself in the process. "Slowly," gasped Valjean, whose trembling made it worthwhile. "I don't want to finish too soon --"

Javert remembered how easily Valjean had brought him to completion like this and was tempted to do the same just to demonstrate that he could, but he was afraid that if he did, it would preclude finishing with Valjean's prick inside him, something he was determined to experience in case Valjean disappeared again. Or not again -- Valjean had not, in fact, disappeared after the first time. How remarkable that, despite the risk to himself, Valjean had chosen to return. Perhaps he greatly enjoyed the taste of a hard prick in his mouth, dripping fluid from the tip, throbbing when someone ran his tongue along the thick muscle...

"No more, I beg you," moaned Valjean. "I would rather make love. Let me please you, too."

Or perhaps Valjean enjoyed a thick muscle thrusting inside him. It did not seem fair to Javert that Valjean should have experienced that pleasure, yet had not offered to show him its delights. "Fuck me, then," he said, pulling his mouth from Valjean's impressively large cock.

Valjean frowned as if he did not like the way Javert had phrased the demand, but he nodded agreement. "If that's what you want." Indeed, it was precisely what Javert wanted. As he had tossed and turned, unable to sleep, he had imagined Valjean taking him like a dog, thrusting in to the hilt with those powerful muscles while one big hand wrapped around Javert's cock and stroked it until he spent all over the bed beneath. "I have never done it before, so you will have to tell me if I make you uncomfortable."

There had been fingers inside Javert before, though only his own, and Javert had no intention of telling a still-wanted criminal that it had been that very criminal's fingers and tongue and cock plunging into Javert in his imagination. He reached for the oil, sitting up beside Valjean on the bed to pour some over Valjean's fingers, then getting up onto all fours to present his backside to Valjean.

A firm squeeze made Javert cry out in surprise. "Not like this," admonished Valjean. "I want to be able to see your face so that I know whether I hurt you or please you."

"But I have longed for you to fuck me on my knees..." Upon hearing Valjean's soft whimper, Javert realized what he had said. "Very well, perhaps not the first time," he muttered, turning as Valjean patted his hip to encourage him. That was not what he had meant to say, either.

Despite his protests of inexperience, Valjean wore the smile of a predator as he urged Javert onto his back, pressing Javert's knees apart with one of his own. "Raise your legs for me," he instructed, and Javert obeyed with embarrassing haste. "Since I last saw you, I have dreamed of your cock." As he spilled oil over his fingers, Valjean gave Javert's erection an appreciative look. "And I have dreamed of doing this..."

Two fingers circled Javert's _trou du cul_ , barely touching at first, making Javert quiver as well as reminding him that he had hair growing in places he rarely wanted to think about. Then one of the fingers pressed harder, and Javert moaned and pushed himself down upon it.

"I see that you like that." Valjean's voice was husky. It made Javert's cock twitch against his belly. The fingers on either side of the one pressing inside Javert were rubbing the surface, spreading the oil. "Have you done this before? Surely you must have, to accept the intrusion so easily."

Javert knew that he was blushing, but that did not stop him from impaling himself eagerly when a second finger slid in beside the first. "No one else has ever touched me there," he said, intending to sound defiant, though he merely sounded breathless to his own ears.

"But you have done this yourself." There was wicked understanding in Valjean's wink. The fingers pressed deep, deeper than Javert's had ever reached, pushing steadily against something that Javert had only ever brushed. He let out a roar that surely rattled the rafters and quite possibly alerted everyone else at La Flaque to what they were doing, but Valjean only grinned. "I see that you like that, too. You have gone too long without being satisfied, I think."

It was not possible for Javert to answer, not with his head tossing on the bed and unholy sounds spilling from his mouth. "Fuck me," he grunted, no longer caring whether Valjean wanted to do it with Javert on his back or his knees or face down in the pillow. "Please."

"In a moment." A third finger pushed inside, the widest stretch Javert had ever experienced save for the one time he had thought to use his truncheon, but that had proved to be unpleasant -- he had had nothing else large enough to simulate what he imagined to be the size of Valjean's erect cock, though he was relieved that in truth Valjean's cock was not quite as enormous as he had conjured. His breath caught and Valjean went still. "I wish to cause you no pain."

"I will tell you if you cause me pain. And also if I want it harder," growled Javert. Oh, but he did like how dark Valjean's eyes became when he spoke to him so. The fingers inside him pressed deep, and Javert let out another helpless howl. "Fuck me!" he repeated, aware that he would beg if necessary.

With a strained chuckle, Valjean withdrew his fingers and reached once more for the oil. When Javert pushed himself up on one elbow to watch Valjean apply it, Valjean began to make more of a show of it, thrusting into his own slippery hand for Javert's benefit. "Now that I know how tight and hot you are inside, I may never stop fucking you," Valjean told him, leaning over him, and Javert moaned urgently, clawing at the sheet, raising his legs.

"Please!" He was prepared for pain, indeed he would have welcomed a certain amount of pain, for it might have restored his rationality and prevented him from continuing to plead for more. But there was scant discomfort, for Valjean had prepared him thoroughly, and despite his claims of inexperience, Valjean seemed to know exactly what he was doing as he slid in and out and in.

"Oh," groaned Valjean as in surprise, but then he seemed to master himself. His thrusts came in a steady rhythm as he gazed down at Javert, searching his face. "I'm not hurting you?" Breathlessly Javert shook his head, or more accurately thrashed it from side to side, angling his hips to try to make Valjean's cock press the same spot that his fingers had found a few minutes earlier. "No, indeed, you look as if you like this, too. You've truly never done it before?"

"No, never, only you!" Javert was quickly discovering that when he surrendered to this sort of passion, his tongue would blurt out thoughts not even fully formed in his mind. He should have felt lewd and ashamed, yet instead he felt as if unseen irons that had chained him for years had suddenly been removed. When Valjean's fingers closed around his cock, tugging on it in the same rhythm as he thrust, Javert cried out wantonly and clutched at Valjean's back. "More!"

Perhaps because Valjean was older, he had greater control than Javert had managed on either occasion when they had engaged in such acts. He experimented with different speeds and angles, he twisted his hand on Javert's cock as he stroked it, he did something with his thumb below the foreskin that made Javert roar his pleasure like a tiger.

Javert tried to tell himself that this was his own weakness, that he had already suspected himself to be a deviant when he first arrived at La Flaque, that he was not so enraptured because it was Valjean committing these transgressions with him but only because of the nature of the transgressions themselves. But he knew that it wasn't true because when those clever fingers gave his cock a squeeze just when he thought he surely could hold back no longer, he shouted, "Valjean!"

He would not even have realized his error had Valjean not paused in his thrusting, peering down at him curiously. "You've broken the rules." The voice was breathless yet stern.

"What --" Wrenching his hips, Javert tried to make Valjean move. There should have been a rule that no man could stop in the middle like this unless he found himself unable to continue. Then he realized what he had screamed out. "You can't expect me to know what I'm saying at a time like this!"

A small, triumphant grin began to push at the corners of Valjean's mouth. Grasping Javert's hip, he slid out slowly, nearly withdrawing himself from Javert's clenching passage. "Rules are rules, are they not?" he asked.

"It was a momentary lapse!" Surely not even a convict could be so cruel as to leave Javert in this state, aching and unsatisfied. Wildly he wondered whether that had been Valjean's plan all along, to seduce him and abandon him at the crucial moment, except Valjean could not have known that Javert had been letting Valjean's face and thighs and cock occupy his thoughts at the moment of climax for years. "Don't stop! Please!"

Valjean thrust in savagely, making Javert wail in delight, but then he began to withdraw again with the same agonizing slowness as before. "What are we to do about your disobedience?"

"It was a mistake! A fantasy! Please --" Tightening his buttocks, Javert tried to trap Valjean's hard prick inside him. "Let us finish, then we can discuss it!"

With excruciating languor, Valjean began to thrust, his fingers remaining lax on Javert's cock. "But this is a very serious offense. I could have you dismissed from the club for it."

"Don't do that! We could never do this together if you have me dismissed!" It seemed that the answer pleased Valjean, who smiled more widely as he fucked Javert with more aggressive movements that hammered spikes of pleasure deep within. Javert tried to think of a threat with which to counter Valjean's, but if he told Valjean that he would follow him or try to have him arrested, Valjean would certainly not offer him gratification now, which seemed more important at the moment than arresting a lawbreaker. "How you torment me!"

"I'm not the one who has made your life a torment these past many years." Valjean hadn't stopped moving, but his thrusts had a new kind of force to them. Where they had begun as a means of shared arousal, they were now assertions of power as well. It shocked Javert how much that excited him. "I haven't pursued you and threatened to take you from your family. Why should I overlook any violation on your part?"

"You have tormented me, you have haunted me, I have never been able to forget you!" There was only one promise that Javert could think to make that would protect his membership in La Flaque and keep Valjean buggering him so exquisitely. "I will overlook your transgressions if you overlook mine!"

"All of them?" asked Valjean sharply, punctuating the question with a perfectly-angled thrust that made Javert shudder and clutch at him. "Is that a promise?"

"Yes! Anything! Please --" Then Javert could only emit strangled cries, for Valjean had wrapped his hand around Javert's cock and was claiming it in firm, steady strokes while his cock thrust again and again over the knot of pleasure deep inside Javert, which came undone, making Javert's seed spurt out over Valjean's fingers and belly, making Javert call out in wordless joy.

"Oh, yes," echoed Valjean, thrusting wildly, his face contorted with need and some other unrecognizable emotion. Javert had not yet caught his breath when Valjean let out a groan, then uttered "Javert" in what seemed to Javert's derailed mind to be a reverent tone as Valjean spilled himself deep inside him.

They lay panting together, arms and legs still wrapped around one another, as Javert waited to feel the regret that certainly should have followed the things he had said. It never came. Indeed, first by taking the vows required of members of La Flaque, then through his outrageous mistake of speaking Valjean's name, Javert knew that he had made his current situation all but inevitable.

With a small sigh, Valjean let his softening prick slip from Javert's body. "I understand now why men go mad over the act of love," he murmured. "That was quite glorious, Javert."

Color flooded Javert's face, though he was even now too relaxed to grow tense. "We should not make a habit of using those names here."

"No?" Valjean's head lifted to look at him. "I think it excites you to know precisely who you are and who shares your bed."

It was pointless to protest, since Javert's spent prick gave a feeble twitch of assent. "Nonetheless, it is against the rules." Javert needed no reminders of how thin the walls were, for he could hear faint thumps and grunts from the room next door and thought it likely that whoever was in that room had heard him wailing in pleasure. "And a needless risk. I may not be the only member of my profession within this organization."

"They would be bound by the same rules are we are." Valjean looked as contented as a cat, stretching out a bit on the bed, his voice nearly a purr. "I know for certain that I am not the only man here to have made good after youthful mistakes. Were you aware of how much sodomy takes place in prisons? I must have been uniquely naive to think it was rare."

Javert had indeed been aware of what took place among prisoners -- some of the other guards had liked to watch unseen, while some had taken particular pleasure in punishing men caught in the act -- but it had seemed so degrading and bestial that he had tried to put it out of his mind. He had never wanted to imagine Valjean as that sort of a man, but rather the sort who had learned to pleasure himself furtively the way Javert did, keeping his forbidden lusts hidden.

"Well? Did you think about fucking me in Toulon?" There was a challenge in the voice. Javert shook his head. "In Montreuil, then?" Helplessly Javert emitted a whimper, and Valjean smiled. "Ah. You would rather have fucked a mayor than a convict."

"I didn't -- that wasn't -- it was never like that."

Valjean's eyebrows rose. "What was it like, then?" When Javert did not answer, he pressed closer, his thigh resting so close to Javert that he would be able to feel it at once if Javert's cock rose once more to attention. "Am I asking the wrong way? Would you rather have done what you said you wanted earlier, to get on all fours for me and let me take you like a dog?"

There was no way to keep his cock from nudging itself against that inquisitive thigh, but Javert shook his head nonetheless. "Not like a dog," he objected.

The answer made Valjean's eyes grow dark and his lips part. "But you did want to be taken," he confirmed. Javert could not bring himself to answer, letting his gaze drop until a finger beneath his chin forced him to look up. "I would have," Valjean said softly. "If I had thought you looked at me as you did because you wished to throw yourself upon me, not to arrest me, I would have taken you to my home and made love to you for as long as you would have allowed it."

The words made Javert shudder. He felt a different sort of heat in his belly when Valjean suggested fucking him like a beast than when Valjean proposed to make him his lover, yet he wanted both; his cock stiffened for both the wicked, sly Valjean who took him to bed to unleash his lusts and the generous, affectionate Valjean who held him afterward and called what they did lovemaking. "Now you're toying with me," he muttered.

"By my honor, I am not. I thought you scorned and looked down upon me, then I thought that you were waiting to catch me and lock me up again. Even if I had guessed that you wanted to share my bed, I would have assumed that you only wanted to remind me of your power over me. I know that if you had found me anywhere but at La Flaque, you would have arrested me and neither sweet seduction nor the most lewd promises would have stopped you."

Javert's prick throbbed against Valjean's thigh to indicate its pleasure at the idea of either a Valjean who pleaded and swore devotion to Javert or a Valjean who winked knowingly and whispered a list of Javert's most secret fantasies that he would fulfill. "Since I did find you here, I can't arrest you, so you have no need to pretend to have wanted me in the past," he said unhappily.

"I scarcely knew you in the past. I would like to know you better. I told you when we came here last time that I have never wanted an anonymous encounter. Since we can do no harm to each other in this place, there is no reason for us not to be wholly honest. I would like to do this regularly, if you wish it. Often, if we could manage it."

Javert's head was as traitorous as his cock, for he was nodding with each statement even as he was prodding enthusiastically against Valjean's thigh. He should have been mortified, but all thought flew out of his head when Valjean's hand slid between them and began to stroke him.

"You recover so quickly. I hope you won't become bored with an old man like me." Because he was unable to speak for groaning, Javert shook his head, bucking into those fingers that had learned very quickly how to bring him to climax. "I can see that your prick is very demanding. How have you kept yourself chaste all these years?"

"Didn't want anyone else," gasped Javert. In the name of God, could he no longer control his own tongue, either?

Valjean smiled at him, not gloating but pleased with Javert. "I will try to give you everything you have been denied, then, if my limited skills permit," he promised and ducked his head, sliding down, wrapping his lips around the head of Javert's cock without breaking the rhythm that his hand had begun. The shaft was more sensitive than usual from their earlier activities and Javert heard himself moaning with abandon. The cleverness of Valjean's lips was matched by his enthusiasm of his tongue, which seemed not in the least offended that Javert must still taste of the seed he had spilled not long before.

Perhaps Javert had indeed neglected his demanding prick for too long, for he felt as if it was now in control of his thoughts as well as his body. Why else would he feel so gleeful instead of disappointed that he could never apprehend the criminal he had long pursued? Why would he feel compelled to stroke Valjean's hair and murmur compliments? This was the definition of licentiousness, yet it seemed to Javert more akin to the promised bliss of heaven, though surely that thought was blasphemous. He could not truly prefer these stolen moments of release to his pride as a policeman, his blameless record, his devotion to the law!

"Jean," he gasped, hoping that that name was more permissible in this place than the surname. His overwrought mind couldn't remember what Valjean had said he wanted to be called. It seemed that Valjean did not mind his given name, at least, for he nodded, his lips sliding up and down on Javert's cock. Shuddering, Javert clutched at Valjean's hair, uttering again the name he had rarely permitted himself to use even in his imagination lest it should have become too familiar and slipped out in speech: "Jean!"

Valjean made a sound that could have been "Javert" or "Pierre" or "derrière," so occupied was his tongue with Javert's cock. Whatever the word was, it was enough to make Javert howl a more primal sound and buck wildly, his seed gushing into Valjean's mouth. Accepting this offering with the same grace as the first time he had made Javert ejaculate that way, Valjean swallowed around him, then licked his cock clean with a grin and wiped the corners of his lips while Javert lay panting.

"That...perfect," Javert managed to get out, trying to smooth Valjean's hair where he had mussed it.

"I doubt that. I have too little experience for it to be perfect. But I am glad to practice." With a soft grunt Valjean pushed himself up, collapsing at Javert's side and smiling at him. "You look very handsome in the throes of passion."

Javert hoped that Valjean would believe he blushed out of embarrassment and not happiness. "I am not handsome."

"You are to me. You cease to look so stern when you feel pleasure. Though you remain fierce." Valjean's smile was wicked as he twirled a finger through the hair on Javert's chest. It tickled, and Javert wriggled a bit. "I would like to hear you laugh."

"My laugh frightens children." Squirming, Javert tried to get away from Valjean's fingers, which were now creeping toward his side. A grin was trying to push its way onto his face and a sound frighteningly like a giggle escaped through his nose. Valjean was grinning too, pinning Javert down with his weight, how could the man still be so strong at his age, his fingers had found Javert's armpits and Javert laughed uncontrollably, writhing beneath Valjean. "Stop, stop!"

Though Valjean was still smiling, he obeyed Javert. "You should laugh more often."

Catching his breath, Javert tried to compose himself. "Do you plan to force me?"

The smile disappeared. "I would never force you to do anything. If you are regretting what we have done..."

"No," Javert answered, cutting Valjean off so quickly that he promptly blushed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Though I should. I hardly recognize myself."

"I could never mistake you for another, and I have known you for many years." The approval in Valjean's gaze made Javert's chest tighten. "Have you never thought that it would do you good to be with someone who could make you laugh? That is all I have ever had of those men in the parlor, yet there have been times it kept me from despair."

"My duty's to the law," retorted Javert, though it sounded more like an excuse than an explanation for his austere habits and his solitary life. "I am not in danger of despair. I have all I need."

"Still, something brought you to this place. And to this room with me." Valjean's mouth turned down. "Perhaps you believe that, because of who I am, I count for too little for anything we do here to matter."

"It matters to me." In God's name, what was the matter with his tongue, saying such things? The look Valjean gave him was so hopeful that Javert decided not to refute what he had just said. "I grew tired of believing that I was a sinner without ever having committed the sin. Now I feel no more a sinner than I did before I found you here."

"Of all the things you have made me feel -- anger, terror, bitterness -- what I feel here seems the least sinful." Valjean lay his head on Javert's chest, resting his cheek over Javert's heart. "I like it. I like myself more, with you." Lips brushed his collarbone. "And I like you, this way, very much."

Javert reminded himself of how badly he had wanted to capture and arrest this man, the pleasure he had anticipated in stalking and trapping him, the ecstasy he had anticipated in putting him once more in chains. He could not conjure the feeling, not when his lower body still ached with pleasure. "I hope that means you will return here," he said.

"Of course I will return. Though I am not quite ready to leave yet tonight. Or is there somewhere you must be?"

Javert knew that it would be unwise for him to spend many nights away from the small room where he boarded. The police might seek him out at any time there was an emergency, and he could only claim to have been patrolling in plain clothes or visiting a sick friend once or twice before there would be more questions. "I don't live far from the Boulevard Saint-Michel," he said.

Valjean's form, which had been draped comfortably half-over Javert's, became less like a blanket and more a board. "I don't dare to meet you anywhere but here."

"My oath to this club requires that even if I recognize someone I have met here on the outside, I must keep that information strictly confidential," huffed Javert, displeased to have his word questioned.

"Your oath does not forbid you from mentioning to a colleague, perhaps even another policeman, that you expect to meet a person outside this place, only that you not mention where you met that person in the first place. I feel certain that if you wished to justify --"

"I have no wish to entrap you," Javert interrupted crossly. Was it not enough for Valjean that Javert had already been obliged to balance his oath to the police with his oath to La Flaque? "I had merely thought to make it less difficult for us to visit with one another. If you prefer these quick and furtive meetings, there is no need for conversation afterward."

Valjean lifted his head, his expression serious. "What are you proposing?" he asked. "That we become _bons amis_? You would take a dangerous convict into your own bed?"

"Are you dangerous?" Javert parried.

"I have not been dangerous since long before I arrived in Montreuil, though I know you have never believed it. I turned myself in rather than allow an innocent man to go to prison. For many years my only purpose has been to raise Cosette in peace." Javert had nearly forgotten about the girl. She would be yet another complication to his seeing Valjean. "Since I discovered this place, it has been my only vice, though I have done no more than share wine and converse with the men here. My life is very quiet. If police work appeals to you, I think you must prefer more excitement than I have ever sought."

As he grew older, Javert found that he appreciated routine even more than the satisfaction of dramatic arrests. The misery of the past two days when he had been uncertain that Valjean would reappear had provided more intrigue than he ever wished to repeat. "Disguising our connection would provide excitement enough," he said, meaning to sound sarcastic, but he made Valjean smile.

"You would do that? You truly want this? With me?"

Javert meant to retort that Valjean must be extremely stupid if he had not realized that already. But he was tired, so he kissed Valjean instead.


	3. Chapter 3

Until he began to visit Valjean at La Flaque, it had never crossed Javert's mind that he might be lonely. He was on courteous terms with the other policemen with whom he worked, even though the younger ones in particular considered him rather stiff and prim. The grocer and the baker greeted him by name. He had even made the acquaintance of a mouse who lived in the wall near his commode, leaving crumbs and bits of cheese until the creature appeared and sniffed his fingers, though eventually the mouse had disappeared, and while the other rodents in his building were content to steal his crumbs, none of them were interested in socializing with him.

Yet he could not tolerate the thought of too much time passing without seeing Valjean again. When they were not together, he was as consumed with the thought that Valjean might disappear at any moment as he had been consumed for many years with finding the man at all. Supposing something were to happen to Valjean, or some problem concerning the girl were to keep Valjean away? Supposing La Flaque were to be discovered by those who had not taken an oath to protect it, and shut down? Supposing Valjean were to panic because of Javert's presence and decide to leave Paris? Javert did not know how he could continue to do his work while engaged in the frenzied search that Valjean's absence would necessitate.

Then, too, there was the concern that any act of pleasure he discovered with Valjean might be the one Valjean decided to try with a younger, more attractive, less stiff and prim partner. Without ever having spared a moment's concern for whether others might find him handsome, Javert now recognized the fact that no one previously had pursued him with romantic intent, which suggested that he might not compare favorably. He tried to be sociable with the other men who came to La Flaque, sharing drinks and stories before they disappeared with one another into back rooms, but unlike Valjean, he did not have a gift for easy conversation. He did not know which subjects to broach, nor when he was expected to offer sympathy instead of advice. Sometimes he thought that Valjean might prefer to spend the evening chattering with a witty young man than buggering Javert, no matter how much Valjean moaned and grunted and whispered endearments during the act.

He had few options. By oath he was obligated not to ask for Valjean's address, nor to offer Valjean his own. He thought about inviting Valjean to a café, but even if Valjean trusted him enough to believe that Javert would not bring the law to entrap him, Javert worried that they might be observed together. What if another policeman spotted Javert and inquired about his companion? Since his fellow officers found him to be serious and overly attentive to work, he seldom shared his table with another, and he had rarely met a trustworthy neighbor who would have consented to form a friendship with a man like himself.

"Perhaps one evening we could walk in the park," he blurted out as he pulled on his boots.

Valjean paused with his shirt halfway over his head, only his eyes visible through the space at the neck. "Would it not be as dangerous for you to be seen with me there as it would for me to risk stepping out in a public place with you?" he asked, slightly muffled by the shirt.

Blushing, Javert studied the floor. "You know that I can't arrest you."

With a shrug, Valjean made the shirt fall over his chest. Even half-covered, the muscles drew Javert's gaze. "I know that you won't violate your oath. I believe that you have no wish to return me to prison and break our connection. But if someone were to see us together, another policeman who inquired about me, or one of those horrible thugs who extort money..."

"We would be careful. I've been trained to recognize when I am being followed, and you must be skilled at hiding to have eluded me for so long." Javert hesitated. "You know that I'm forbidden to speak my address in this place. But if you were to follow me home --"

"You would have to let me make certain that it was not a trap." Though the suggestion made Javert bristle, he did not object; he did not want Valjean to feel that he was right to be suspicious. "Then, perhaps, we could have tea together." Valjean sounded wistful. "Or walk in the park together. The ordinary things that lovers do. But we are not ordinary."

It made Javert's chest warm when Valjean spoke of love. "Surely that doesn't mean we can never have tea or walk in the park together," he objected.

Valjean looked surprised, then defiant. "I have an idea. Let us speak with some of the others. This can't be the only place in Paris where men like ourselves gather. Perhaps they know of a café where several of us might encounter one another as if by chance."

Though Javert wanted to object -- he did not like sharing Valjean with the other men, nor did he like the idea of Valjean discovering yet more places to encounter such men who might be more attractive, more at ease, more youthful, more creative in bed than a stiff and prim policeman -- he could not think of a reasonable objection. "Very well," he said, trying to keep his scowl from his face and his voice.

Several men were sitting in the outer room when Valjean and Javert reached it, including a moody drunk who claimed to be in love with a man with no time for anything but the Revolution and an energetic clown who seemed determined to bed every man who came through the doors of La Flaque. The latter knew of several cafés and inns where men were known to gather, though none with the absolute discretion of La Flaque.

Every man agreed to meet at one not far from where Javert lived, though he had passed the café many times and never suspected that it was a place where men met other men for salacious purposes. They decided to claim to be interested in gardening should anyone inquire about the nature of their group. It would have been absurdly easy to discover their true identities, Javert knew, and they were irrationally trusting, but for this singular moment, he found himself grateful rather than smug about this weakness.

During the afternoon, Javert found excuses to investigate the café and the neighborhood around it, finding nothing that would have made him guess that it was friendly to sodomites. Though he spent all day telling himself that it would be folly to associate himself with such an indiscreet group there -- that he would surely be seen, that both his job and his reputation were at risk, that outside La Flaque he had an obligation to arrest Valjean, that the world he had known was lost in shadow -- he knew that in the end he would meet Valjean and the others. He could not bear the thought that, if he did not appear, Valjean might decide to go home with one of the young men, nor that, having escaped from its confines, Valjean might not return to La Flaque to find Javert.

He disguised himself in plain clothes as best he could when he went out for the evening, and found the small group of men sitting near the back of the café, speaking of trivial matters like the best soil for grapes and remedies for itchy feet. Although he was tense and irritable when he arrived, a few glasses of wine consoled him, as did the pressure of Valjean's thigh against his own while they sat companionably, laughing at the jokes of the man who called himself Carrieux. It was no more his real name than Lenoir was Javert's, yet the evening felt as Javert had imagined it must feel to spend time with a group of friends. On the rare occasion when he had agreed to share a meal with police colleagues, they had always complained that he spoke of nothing but work.

And there was the unexpected pleasure of Valjean's hand brushing Javert's as they reached for their glasses, Valjean's foot sliding over Javert's with apparent intention. His prick swelled in his trousers, not desperate for release but responding to the contentment that Javert could feel throughout his body, sitting with Valjean, sipping wine and sharing bread, talking to these men whom he had no need to investigate and who did not judge him.

Slowly the others began to drift away, one at a time or in pairs. Javert made certain that he had Valjean's attention as they rose, speaking of the changeable weather in the hills of southern France, and walked from the café. Though Javert was unaccustomed to making small talk, he kept up a steady dialogue, leading Valjean through the narrow lanes until at last he paused, gesturing at the building beside them. "This is where I live."

Valjean's eyes widened in surprise as he stepped back, taking in the unremarkable building on the quiet, shadowed street. Javert knew none of his neighbors except in passing; he had followed a few of the more suspicious-looking sorts to be certain there was no crime taking place so near to where he slept, but they had proven to be dull people with uncomplicated lives, engaged in no sordid activities of interest to the Préfecture.

"I have tea, if you would like some," added Javert awkwardly.

Valjean smiled at him but shook his head. "I should return home. I did not tell my daughter that I would be gone so long." He paused, studying Javert. "Shall I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," replied Javert at once. He knew that he was taking too many risks, disappearing without explanation when it was conceivable that he could be summoned to investigate one of the groups of students or instigators stirring up trouble in the streets, but he could not bear the thought of letting even a day pass without seeing Valjean. Clearing his throat, he added, "If I were ever to fail to appear, I would wish you to understand that my duty and not my will kept me away."

"Of course I would understand." The warmth in Valjean's smile, visible even in the dark lane, went directly to Javert's groin. "It's the same for me -- if I were ever to fail to appear, you must know that only an important obligation could keep me from you. I would never choose to stay away."

"Tomorrow, then." Javert hoped that he did not sound as desperate as he felt. He fought an uncharacteristic urge to launch himself at Valjean and kiss him right there in the street.

The next day passed painfully slowly. Javert nearly wished for a criminal discovery to make the slow hours of the afternoon seem to pass more quickly, but then he worried that a late incident might keep him from La Flaque. When at last he left the station-house, he stopped at his room only long enough to trade his uniform for an unremarkable coat and shoes, buying some cheese and bread as he passed by the market on the way to the club's unmarked entrance, knowing that there would be wine and a warm fire awaiting him there. It did not surprise him that he arrived before Valjean, since it had scarcely been dark when he left. Indeed, apart from the _parrain_ , he was the first man to enter La Flaque that evening.

Gradually, other men began to arrive: the lonely old fool who called himself Leduc, the well-formed, oft-drunk Rêver, the witty Araigné. Rêver was sulking that the man he adored was too busy planning a glorious future for the poor to have time for happiness in the present, and the others tried to comfort him, alternately telling him bawdy stories and assuring him that his handsome friend would eventually take a few minutes from his politics to drink with him. Other men arrived, most known to Javert, one unfamiliar face, and slowly the crowded room began to empty as they paired off.

Still Valjean did not appear.

"Monsieur Leblanc will come," Carrieux assured Javert with a wink. "He is much attached to you, you know. I often invited that strong one to accompany me, but until you arrived, he never had any interest in _comment est-ce qu'on fait l'amour_." Javert scowled at this, but it was not a surprise; indeed, Carrieux had once made suggestive remarks to Javert himself when Valjean had arrived a bit late, though Javert's emphatic rejection had put a stop to that.

Javert glared into his glass. "Perhaps other obligations keep him away."

"No, I am sure he will come," said Rêver gloomily. "He is devoted to you."

Another hour passed with no sign of Valjean. Javert reminded himself that it was not as if Valjean could send his daughter to the club with a note if Valjean had taken ill, nor could he send word some other way. It was surprising that Carrieux did not pursue the newcomer, but remained near Javert, looking a bit anxious as he repeatedly expressed his belief that Valjean would soon arrive -- or if not, then surely some important yet not dangerous event had kept Valjean away.

Though Javert detested his own weakness and hated even more the thought that these men recognized it for what it was, he found himself strangely affected by their consideration. Why should they treat a man whose name they would never know with such generosity? In the weeks he had been coming here, he had generally thought of the other men who did the same thing with distrust and wondered what other vices they were hiding, yet he was no better than they were, and they were not a bad lot.

That thought was scant consolation on the long, cold walk from La Flaque when at last Javert was forced to admit that Valjean was not coming. It was too late now to distract himself at a café and he had had too much wine to send himself to look for wrongdoers. He had no choice but to return to his room, unsure whether it would be worse to learn that some evil fate had befallen Valjean or that Valjean simply had not wished to come tonight.

He reached his own door in a state of agitation, thinking that perhaps he would polish his boots or stab a needle through his uniform to be certain that the buttons were rigidly affixed. At once he could see that something was wrong. The door was open, though only barely; someone had propped it so that it would appear to be closed to anyone passing by, but a small crack revealed that someone had entered after Javert had left that evening.

It was the final disappointment of an already miserable day. Banging the door open with a roar, Javert burst inside. "You will rot in prison, you --"

He fell silent at the choked cry of surprise that greeted him. Valjean was sitting on his bed, dressed in nothing but a long shirt.

Javert's throat tightened so much that he feared he would not be able to breathe, let alone to speak. "What are you doing here?" he managed to get out.

"I've been waiting for you for hours." Valjean had turned, reaching to the side. He appeared to be grasping for Javert's truncheon, which Javert had left on the same chair over which he had carelessly draped his uniform. "As I said I would. What has changed? Have you brought other policemen?"

"Of course not." Javert watched Valjean settle back, looking relieved. Again Javert asked, "Why are you here?"

"I didn't want anyone to see me waiting for you, so I let myself inside. Didn't we agree that we would see one another today?"

"I thought you meant --" Abruptly Javert made a small gesture toward the door. His hand was shaking and he did not want Valjean to see. "I went to La Flaque."

"Oh." The concern on Valjean's face turned to chagrin, then to apology. "When you did not arrive, I assumed your work kept you away. I never stopped to think that you might have gone there." He slid off the bed, stepping forward, reaching for Javert's hands. "Forgive me."

Javert did not want to let Valjean feel him trembling, yet he did so want to touch Valjean. He allowed Valjean to capture his elbows and pull him close. There would never be any consolation besides this, no substitute for the strength of Valjean's arms, the solid force of his chest. It was not entirely by choice that Javert found himself leaning against it. "It was an unfortunate misunderstanding," he said, relieved that his voice wavered only a bit.

"I want no misunderstandings between us. I want us to learn to trust one another." Catching Javert's face between his hands, Valjean kissed him. "I'm sorry to have wasted so much of the evening. Will you come to bed?"

Javert's prick was strangely quiescent, not propelling him with the usual urgency when he was in Valjean's presence. His belly churned. "I am not tired," he said more forcefully than he intended.

"Let me get you a glass of wine." Despite his sour stomach, Javert allowed Valjean to lead him to the bed and urge him to sit. Apparently Valjean had brought wine and bread with him, plus some sort of cheese and figs, which were not inexpensive in Paris.

Glancing around, Javert saw that there were flowers on the table. It seemed that Valjean intended to court him. He wished that he were not so agitated. "You don't have to serve me," he began.

"It's my pleasure." Handing Javert a cup since Javert kept no goblets, Valjean sat and slid behind him, rubbing his back solicitously. Javert felt a kiss brush his ear. "Am I forgiven?"

"You know that you are," muttered Javert, feeling his cheeks flush. The wine and Valjean's fingers sliding over his body were having the effect that Valjean evidently had hoped. A hand slipped around his waist, opening his trousers, caressing the cock that was belatedly responding to Valjean's presence. With a soft groan, Javert tried to turn.

"No -- let me." The cup was taken from his hand and set down. Valjean tugged on him, urging Javert to lie back against the muscular body. One hand slid beneath Javert's shirt, the other returned to his cock. "I don't like to see you distressed."

"I'm not..." But he had twisted his head as he spoke, and Valjean captured his lips, kissing him at an awkward angle from behind, toying with a nipple, stroking his cock with steady determination. A small urgent whine escaped Javert's nose. He would embarrass himself if this kept up, he would spill his seed as quickly as he had the first time Valjean had put his mouth on him, yet still Valjean would not stop. "I won't last," he gasped, breaking free to breathe.

Valjean's expression was as wanton as any Javert had seen. "Then stop struggling. Let me do this for you. Let me feel you --" It was impossible to think with Valjean's breath warm against his ear. Pulling back the hand, Valjean turned to lick it, then returned hot slick fingers to Javert's prick.

The room already smelled like sex as it had never done before, the arousal and sweat of another mingling with Javert's own. He could not resist, he had no will to resist, he was going to...

"Just relax, finish for me. Do it," whispered Valjean, brushing his mouth around the edge of Javert's ear as his fingers did something both familiar and strange over the head of Javert's cock. With a cry of surrender, he gave in to the wave of pleasure cresting over him, leaving Valjean's hand and his own belly wet and slick.

"That's better," said Valjean with a purr of contentment in his voice, as if he and not Javert had just experienced a glorious climax. Wiping his hand on the already spattered shirt, Valjean tugged at Javert's damp clothing until he had pushed the trousers off and pulled the shirt away. Then Valjean removed his own shirt and slid down in the bed, taking Javert with him so that they were curled up with Valjean's knees pressing the backs of Javert's thighs and Valjean's arms keeping Javert close on the small bed. 

Javert knew that to be fair, he should turn and do the same for Valjean as Valjean had just done for him, but the arms and one foot over his ankle held him still. "This is better still," murmured Valjean.

"Don't you want me to --"

"There's no hurry. Unless you are expected somewhere, we have all night." Valjean's lips brushed the back of Javert's ear. "And I am happy to be here with you. Tell me about what your day was like, now that we are no longer at La Flaque and can speak of such things."

Javert tried to remember what he had done that morning, which seemed like days rather than hours earlier. "I was impatient for it to end," he said, feeling his muscles slacken as Valjean's fingers stroked through his hair. "The afternoon was endless. I was concerned that work would keep me from the club and you would think I did not wish to return. Then the evening was endless because I thought you had disappeared."

"I never meant to cause you distress," Valjean assured him, rubbing his chin against Javert's scalp. 

"The others told me they were sure you would come."

"They are good men." Pausing, Valjean lifted his head. "Perhaps you would not think so. Some of them have been in prison, and some of them make foolish choices."

Javert considered his longtime belief that kindness was easier than justice. Those men had chosen to offer him trust and generosity when he had given them no reason to do so. It was foolish, yet he had felt gratitude toward them, and did not know whether that meant he was weak or only doing what was fair. "They were kind to me," he said.

"They have always been kind to me, too, though they must have thought it was very strange that I would join such a club without ever participating in the activities for which it was established. Not until you arrived, at least." Again Valjean kissed his ear. "I hadn't thought I wanted it until you arrived."

"You no longer believe that I plan to lie in wait and arrest you?" Javert asked him curiously.

Valjean's chuckle was warm against his skin. "I hope not. With you I am never entirely certain. But you are different now. I think God must have touched your heart."

"God pays no attention to men like me." Of that, Javert had been certain since he was a young boy. "God can't even be bothered to punish us for the sins we commit together."

"Perhaps God considers it a lesser sin than those we have committed separately. This is not mere lust." The arm around Javert's waist squeezed him.

Being so warm and relaxed was making his eyes fall shut. "You're the one who has touched my heart," he murmured.

"Oh, love," he thought he heard Valjean say, but sleep was claiming him more quickly even than Valjean could do.

Javert was accustomed to being pulled from sleep by the chill, tugging the bedcovers around himself to try to shut it out. He had never before experienced this slow emergence to awareness, comfortable from the warm body still pressed behind and around his own. He thought that the bed would always seem too large now when he slept there alone.

"Are you awake?" he whispered.

A soft hum was his reply. He had concluded that Valjean must still be asleep when he felt muscles rippling against his back, then an unmistakable prod along his hip.

"Parts of you are indeed awake," Javert intoned.

"You have that effect on me." Chuckling, Valjean allowed Javert to roll over, making accommodations for elbows and knees in the small bed. The candle had gone out, but enough light seeped through the curtain over the window for Javert to see Valjean's smile. "I brought oil in the basket with the wine and bread."

"But I would have to leave this cozy bed to fetch it." Javert's cock had been stirring since he had first discovered Valjean's arousal. Now that they were having such a frank discussion of lovemaking, it stiffened and throbbed. Arching forward, he rubbed it against Valjean's, relishing the moan this triggered. "The cold might cause me to lose...inspiration."

"I would help you find your inspiration once again," Valjean assured him, giving his rump a squeeze. "You see, my hands are warm. So is my mouth."

Already Javert knew that he would force himself to get up and retrieve the bottle. He would not deny himself the chance to let Valjean make love to him in his own bed, a memory that would burn within him when Valjean himself was no longer there to provide this welcome heat. How was he to persuade Valjean to return the next night, and the next? The risk of discovery grew with each encounter. "I will bring the oil," Javert told him, sliding from beneath the warm blanket, flinching at the chill from the floorboards. Somehow he would need to persuade Valjean to reveal where he lived so that Javert could move his lodgings nearer to him.

By the time he returned to the bed, his arousal had shrunk, not only from the cold but from the worry that this night might be his only opportunity to lie with Valjean outside of La Flaque. Even going there was a risk; Javert could not keep returning to the club nearly every night when he might need to be summoned for police work in an emergency. This thought troubled him as Valjean's deft hands moved over him.

"Is it too soon for you?" Valjean whispered breathlessly into his ear. "Or are you still cold?"

"Promise me that this will not be the only time," muttered Javert.

"Why would it be?" Valjean shifted back, trying to look at him in the dim room. "If you believe I came here only to claim you as a trophy to be won, you know less of me than I had hoped."

"I know the man you are." Javert swallowed. "I don't know how to continue to do what I do, or to be who I am, and also to have you."

Valjean's sigh was so soft that it might have been mistaken for a pant of desire. "I did not wish to change you," he said. "It was not my purpose, when we first came together at La Flaque."

"Yet you have changed me, though I had not believed that a man such as myself could change. Nor a man like you. What are we to do? It's too dangerous for us to continue to meet like this."

"We'll find another way. You are worth the risk to me. I won't give you up unless you demand it." The words, spoken with such ferocity and passion, did more to rouse Javert than the dexterity of Valjean's fingers. He groaned softly and they did not speak for several minutes, their mouths occupied with kissing. On more than one occasion an elbow or foot bumped loudly against the wall and they froze, waiting for evidence that they had disturbed Javert's neighbor, but soon enough they returned to stroking and tasting all the flesh they could reach.

"Inside me," demanded Javert when he could wait no longer. Valjean obliged him, turning him and driving him into the pillows to muffle his groans. He would need a more private room -- he would need another blanket -- he would need a regular supply of oil --

"You make me reckless," grunted Valjean as he thrust. "You make me want to see you in cafés and parks and in my own bed. You make me think that perhaps I no longer need to hide."

"I would protect you," groaned Javert.

"You might tire of me. You might one day come to regret this, and choose to blame me, and to punish me."

"Never. I swear --" Javert could not think with Valjean's hand moving so on him and Valjean's cock pressing deep inside him, stopping his voice, stopping his breath. "I will always belong to you!"

They did not speak in recognizable words after that, though Javert thought that Valjean called him "love" just before he thrust in hard and cried out, hips bucking against Javert's, fingers stuttering and jerking on Javert's prick until they were covered with the evidence of Javert's delight in this sin that Valjean believed was less hateful to God than hate. They lay together panting on the damp bed, hands brushing and squeezing one another, silent for a long time but for soft sighs of satisfaction.

"I would like to introduce you to Cosette," Valjean said at last. "Do you understand what that would mean? You would learn the name under which I have lived for all these years. You would be able to discover who took me in and kept me safe from you."

"I would not try to discover it..." began Javert.

"Not now, perhaps. But you would be curious. Your duty to the law has been so much a part of you. I would not expect that to disappear because of me."

Javert decided not to try to explain the turmoil he had felt as he tried to work out when these stolen moments with Valjean had become as important to him as his unimpeachable record as a policeman. "I took an oath," he reminded Valjean. "If I recognize anyone whom I have encountered at La Flaque outside the club, such information must be kept in the strictest confidence. I am bound to that oath even here, and I will never break it. Does that suffice?"

Shifting, Valjean raised himself up on an elbow. "And what of Cosette? You wanted to arrest her mother. Will you insist that she know the things I have never told her? I could never allow her to be hurt, not even if it meant continuing to hide from you."

"I have no reason to speak to her of the past. I wouldn't talk about her mother." Javert felt an odd sense of relief. He had asked himself much more difficult questions, questions he did not dare answer, about what he would do if another policeman discovered Valjean's identity, if he were forced to choose between Valjean and the law. Everything Valjean himself demanded could be and indeed must be accepted under the oath Javert had taken at La Flaque. "The girl has done no wrong. I would protect her, too."

That was the beginning of the plan whereby Javert came to live at the Rue Plumet, though Valjean was cautious at first and insisted on introducing Cosette to Javert at a café far from that quiet street. He did not mean to investigate the girl, but he was naturally more observant than Valjean, so he was aware of the comings and goings of a certain young man whom Valjean was content to overlook as they made plans to enlarge the pavilion and lodge. To spend more time with Valjean, Javert began to accompany him to church, which he had always understood to be an institution of social order, only to discover that there were pious men -- even priests -- whose sense of duty and moral certitude diverged from the rules by which Javert had lived his life. It was profoundly disturbing, and he railed against it to Valjean, who did not try to argue but to describe his own experiences as a benevolent malefactor, a compassionate convict. Javert found himself looking at lawbreakers even as he arrested them, wondering what Valjean would do in his place.

Though they did not often return to La Flaque, Valjean occasionally wished to visit to learn what had become of the men who had become his friends, and, though Javert was reluctant to admit it, his own friends as well. For several days after the June Rebellion, the club remained closed. When it reopened, some of the men never returned. Yet Valjean was able to bring both Cosette's young man and Javert to safety, and, after the uprising, Javert found that he had lost his zeal for police work. He had seen too many young men die as traitors. It no longer seemed impossible to him that a criminal could become a good man. Valjean had opened his eyes, and his heart, to a higher law.

Still, Valjean looked astonished when Javert told him that he had learned of the intended retirement of the _parrain_ and wanted to take on the position himself. It was not the limited recompense, the nature of the work, nor the late hours that troubled Valjean, for once Cosette was married, Valjean reluctantly acknowledged that he must see her far less often. "But, Javert, the _parrain_ takes on responsibility for all the men of the club. If there are fights or conflicts, it will fall to you to stop them or face the consequences alongside them. If someone were to accuse you of running a _maison d’abattage_..."

"I am familiar with the laws, and would be certain that all members obeyed them. You know that I would maintain the highest standards of safety and discretion. Do you find me unfit for such a task?"

"Not at all. I merely confess myself astounded that you should wish it." Indeed, Valjean shook his head, smiling a bit. "I had believed you found La Flaque to be a necessary evil, flouting the laws of God and only just acceptable within the laws of man."

"I do not condone everything that I know takes place within its walls. Perhaps not even most of it." Javert took a breath, composing his thoughts. "But I would not have found love with you without such a place. And we are better men, together. Surely there are other men who deserve the same opportunity for such discoveries."

Now Valjean smiled as he only ever smiled at Javert, not even at Cosette. "I am very glad if the discovery has made you happy, since you have made me happier than I had ever imagined I could be. If keeping La Flaque running as it has will also make you happy, I will do what I can to help you, my love."

Often Javert thought that the young men who frequented the club believed himself and Valjean both to be old _tapettes_ who had lived dull and quiet lives, protecting the secret of their inclinations. Yet most were friendly and generous, and they did not protest overmuch when Javert lectured them about obeying the law and living as otherwise respectable men. If he was occasionally scandalized by reports he received from the maids, he was just as frequently curious, and he found that Valjean was a very willing partner in any explorations he wished to undertake.

It was not the sort of company that Javert had ever expected to keep, nor the sort of society he had ever imagined he would join. But when he retreated for the evening to room he shared with Valjean, he found himself satisfied.


End file.
